


Marriage

by Viscariafields



Series: Leandra Hawke [22]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Stupid Arguments, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:06:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23279068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viscariafields/pseuds/Viscariafields
Summary: Fenris and Hawke have different ideas about what marriage requires, and whether or not they themselves are, in fact, already married.
Relationships: Fenris/Female Hawke
Series: Leandra Hawke [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1462840
Comments: 13
Kudos: 98





	Marriage

Fenris grunted into his pillow. Three nights he was unable to sleep without nightmares. No reason for it, just a thing that happened on occasion. Less frequent now that he lived with Hawke, but it seemed he would never shake his bad memories entirely. Hawke let him sleep; she always let him sleep no matter how late in the day it got.

But today someone was visiting, and they just kept _talking_. It was a high-pitched drone, not even the back and forth of a regular conversation. Now that he had given up his quest for slumber, he could hear it all more clearly. A tittering laugh, the clink of teacups, a rustle of fabric, and he softened his annoyance somewhat. Hawke was suffering at least as much as he was, if she was sitting through this.

Fenris got himself out of bed and debated whether to storm out half-clothed. Certainly the site of a mostly-naked lyrium-infused elf would scare away even the most determined visitors. Surely Hawke would thank him. As he approached the door, however, he heard the culprit, Lady Brya he now recognized, making her goodbyes.

Hawke bid her farewell, but then said something curious. “My husband is still sleeping, but I’ll let him know you called.”

_Who?_

He stood by the door, still undressed, frowning, wondering what she could have meant by that, and that was how Hawke found him a minute later when she walked in.

“Husband?” he asked.

“I think normally the woman gets called wife, but I suppose I don’t mind you calling me your husband if that’s what you want.” She smiled as she warmed to the idea. “I think I’d make a great husband.”

“No, I mean… we’re not… We haven’t…”

“We haven’t what?”

He ran his hand through his hair, still disheveled from sleep. “We’re not married.”

Hawke blinked, her smile fading for a moment. Then she ran her hand through his hair, too, fixing it for him. “You _are_ having a rough morning. Afternoon, really. Well, I have some terrible news for you. You’re awake now and your dreams were real—you live here in our estate with your wife.” She gave him a quick peck on the lips. “Or husband, if you prefer.”

She walked toward his wardrobe and pulled out a shirt for him. Was he suffering from memory loss _again?_ No. Nothing had changed. He remembered yesterday, and the day before, and every day before that. Only… “Hawke, I assure you that I am awake, and we are not married.”

She set the shirt on the bed and sat next to it, pulling her knees to her chest. “If this is a joke, I don’t think I like it. Does something very funny happen next?”

They stared at each other, Hawke with her chin on her knees, Fenris with his arms held out, palms up in a universal sign of confusion. There was nothing for it. He would have to ask her outright. “Why do you think we’re married?”

He could not have offended her more deeply if he’d tried. Her face fell, her cheeks went pink. Her gaze drifted around the room, landing on anything but him. “What are you talking about? I bought you a bed. You moved into my house. You told me you wanted to face the future with me and that you’d never leave. What else would that mean?”

All of that _did_ happen, true. He meant it then and he meant it now. Still… “Marriage happens in a chantry.”

Hawke scoffed. “Only for rich people.”

“ _You_ are rich!”

Her eyes blazed as she corrected him. “ _We_ are rich.” She inhaled sharply and covered her mouth in surprise. Blinking rapidly, she turned her face away from him.

“Are you… are you crying?”

“No.” She sniffed. A tear rolled down her cheek. “Maker’s breath, why is this affecting me?”

He sat next to her and gently put his arm out, afraid she would refuse his comfort. She didn’t—leaning into him and resting her head upon his shoulder.

“You called yourself Fenris Hawke,” she accused.

“That was symbolic.”

“Of our marriage!”

How long had he not known they were married in her eyes? In her silence he knew that she was doing the same calculations.

“We will rectify this,” he promised, “Today.”

“There’s nothing to rectify.”

“We’ll talk to Sebastian.”

She pulled away from him to look him in the face. “Do you really want me to go in front of the chantry and tell everyone that you are the only man I intend to fuck for the rest of my life?”

“I… _no_.”

“Do you need that for this to be real? For our promises to each other to mean something?” She wiped her face. “No, sorry, I’m not trying to accuse, I know I sound… I’m _asking_. Is that what you want?”

“I don’t… I don’t know. I never thought you would—” He didn’t finish the sentence. He never thought Hawke would want to marry him. Why would she? Marriage was a combining of assets, a consolidation of power, and though Hawke might love him, he brought her nothing, no wealth, titles, distinction. And yet now, with him doing little more than hanging his sword in her foyer, he found she had believed them married for months already. What he offered her had clearly been enough.

He looked into her eyes, red now, a little puffy. He _had_ made vows. He didn’t need a chantry sister to hear them to make them real. He laughed suddenly, a small thing, the harbinger of a storm of elation gathering in his chest and threatening to overpower him.

He had been her husband for _weeks_ and he didn’t even have the good sense to know it. “No,” he answered, “You are right.”

She sniffled. “I’m what?”

“You’re right. You are already—” He laughed again, louder. He couldn’t get it out. The word felt foreign on his tongue and far too joyful for the likes of him.

“I’m already what?” Hawke asked, a hunger in her eyes. She was on the brink of winning and she knew it, her breath held waiting for his admission of defeat. 

He shook his head in the face of her smile, unable to control his own. “You’re my—”

“Mhmm?”

“My—” At this rate, if he smiled any wider, his face would crack.

“Say it.”

“You’re my wife.”

Hawke threw her arms around him, laughing as they crashed back into their bed. “I can’t believe you didn’t know that already.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've had pieces of this argument in my head for WEEKS and I'm happy I finally wrote it down.
> 
> I wanted to add-- I see the crux of the issue here being cultural. Growing up a peasant in Ferelden, marriage was more like, yeah, I'll move in, we're married now. Having his first memories be around nobles in Tevinter, Fenris sees marriage as a more official/legal thing.


End file.
